


Going Along

by ClaraxBarton



Series: Kinktober2019 [26]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Frottage, Kinktober, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Protective Bucky Barnes, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Sassy Steve Rogers, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 03:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21190646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: Bucky just wants to eat breakfast, and there Steve is, causing trouble.





	Going Along

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hawksonfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawksonfire/gifts).

> The very loosest of connections to roleplay - but if anyone thinks I'm actually capable of easily and like... logically writing to prompts, I don't think you've read any of the 25 days before this.
> 
> For Arson. You ask for the best damn things.
> 
> Now beta read by the amazing Ro!!!

* * *

* * *

It was nearly one in the afternoon when Bucky sat down to have breakfast at the automat on Sunday.

While this was sort of his ritual, he was used to ordering scrambled eggs and hash from Dolores at nine or ten in the morning - not at twelve forty-five.

But then again, his Friday and Saturday nights were always unpredictable, and as a result, so were Sundays.

He had started staying in Manhattan on Friday and Saturday nights, after six months of dragging his exhausted ass between Red Hook in the mornings and back fourteen hours later - or more.

Tommy Kennedy had fixed Bucky up with the job waiting tables at the super club near 5th Avenue after Bucky was laid off at the bank. It wasn’t great, devoting his afternoons and nights to a job with a two-hour commute. But the pay was…

Quite frankly, the pay was amazing - the kind of money Bucky would have been bragging about if his father hadn’t lost his job again and Steve hadn’t spent three weeks in the hospital that January with pneumonia again.

As it was, money was still tight, between the two households Bucky supported. Tight enough that he stayed with Tommy Kennedy on Friday and Saturday nights only if he was unlucky.

Because if Bucky was  _ lucky, _ he spent the night with some sweet-smelling woman or man - or both - in their expensive apartment or hotel. And in the morning, he charmingly but firmly asked for ‘cab fare’ and stared his one-night stand in the face until they understood exactly what Bucky was asking for.

And then they gave him anywhere from a few dollars to  _ more _ than a few dollars, and Bucky kissed them goodbye and took the subway home, and had breakfast at the automat before going back to the one-bedroom apartment he shared with Steve and dragging him out to go grocery shopping.

But, well, Mrs. Sarah Spencer - tragically widowed - had wanted a surprisingly intense goodbye kiss that morning, and it had taken forever for Bucky to finally get back in his clothes and leave. Forever, and a hell of a lot more money than he’d ever been given for cab fare before.

So fate or greed or passion or something conspired to make it so that Bucky’s plate of eggs and hash was just leaving Dolores’s hands and settling onto the table when the first shout broke through the still afternoon silence.

She and Bucky both looked up, following the sound to see a group gathered across the street at the little neighborhood park.

Shouting, waving signs that demanded better pay and safe working conditions and-

“Son of a bitch,” Bucky growled, and shoved away from the table, almost knocking over Dolores as he scrambled to his feet.

“Sorry,” he said, not bothering with charm as he pulled a few bills from his wallet and left them on the table with his untouched meal. He grabbed his hat and yanked the automat door open, and sprinted across the street just as a group of black wool moved towards the crowd.

Bucky recognized too many of the cops closing in on the crowd to feel comfortable.

Donlan, who had dragged George Barnes’s sorry ass off of Winifred more than once.

Smith, and the other Smith - neither related, both assholes.

Cooper, who had offered Bucky a dollar to suck his dick, and instead of paying up had kicked Bucky in the gut and walked away while Bucky was puking.

And it would be one thing, if the cops were the only people Bucky recognized. But they weren’t - and they sure as hell weren’t the reason he’d raced out from the automat.

It was impossible to miss the head of gold hair that flashed in the crowd, a nightmare to hear the angry baritone of a familiar voice chanting some fucking nonsense about justice.

Bucky reached the crowd just after the first punch was thrown, when the angry shouts turned to fearful screams.

He shoved his way against the tide - parting the fleeing protestors with his shoulders until he could reach between them, until he had a hand on that damn windbreaker he’d given Steve six years ago, and that the idiot wouldn’t let Bucky replace.

He yanked, earning a fist to his throat and a brilliant blue glare.

But Bucky held on and dragged Steve Rogers, stubborn asshole, away from the protest-turned-brawl - and soon to be worse.

And Steve, eternal pain in Bucky’s ass, fought against him every step of the way, until Bucky had him shoved against a rough brick wall in an alley and the storm of chaos was passing them by.

“Fuck off!” Steve shoved at Bucky.

Bucky pushed Steve’s back against the bricks harder, glaring down at him and fisting his hands in Steve’s jacket.

“Are you crazy?” Bucky hissed. “You think hanging out in the park on Sunday and calling your new boss a fascist is gonna help anything?”

Steve kicked him, struggled until Bucky used his entire body to pin Steve.

“It ain’t right, Buck! You know what they did to Ezekiel and-”

“I know what  _ you _ did just now, you stupid bastard! You punched me without even seeing who you were swinging at!”

Steve’s glare hadn’t subsided at all, and with his flushed cheeks and ragged breathing, he was as worked-up as Bucky had ever seen him.

“What if I’d been a cop, Steve?”

Because Bucky could picture it, could see in his mind’s eye exactly what would have happened if Steve had swung his vicious little right hook at Smith or Smith or Donlan or Cooper. It made his empty stomach twist.

“Then I’d’ve punched you again!” Steve snarled.

And - the idiot. He would have.

“You think Cooper would let you?” Bucky shoved his thigh between Steve’s legs and hauled him up against the bricks until they were eye-to-eye. 

Steve swallowed hard, locked his jaw. Kept glaring.

“He’d’ve hauled you off and-”

“And what? Do what you’re doing?” Steve demanded.

It almost made Bucky drop him. Almost made Bucky run away.

But Steve’s calloused hands were suddenly over his - gripping him tight, holding Bucky’s hands in place, not letting him go.

Bucky stared at him, tried to find reason in Steve’s impossible eyes.

Bucky licked his lips.

“And what am I doing, huh?”

Steve rolled his skinny hips against Bucky, and Bucky sucked in a breath.

Steve was hard, his dick a thick, familiar weight on Bucky’s thigh.

“Felt like you were trying to teach me a lesson,” Steve taunted.

Bucky shoved his thigh up, rocked it against Steve’s cock.

“Yeah? You think that’s what I’d do if I was Cooper? Think I’d haul you off somewhere and fuck you?”

Steve made a sound, something between a whimper and a growl.

“I’d fuck you so good, so hard, Stevie.” Bucky leaned close, breathed the words into the shell of Steve’s ear while Steve shamelessly rode his leg, rolling against him, tight ass and big dick grinding against Bucky through the wool of their trousers.

“Make you cry,” Bucky said, and bit Steve’s ear, sucked the sensitive lobe into his mouth until Steve was whining. “Make you beg for it, you goddamn troublemaker.”

“Please, Buck, please,” Steve moaned, and his short, uneven fingernails dug into Bucky’s hands, sharp crescents of pain that flared into pleasure as Steve gasped and clung to Bucky.

“Please, what? You want something Rogers, you better take it. That’s what you’re all about, isn’t it? Getting what you think is yours?”

“Go to hell,” Steve hissed, voice broken and eyes closed. The crown of his golden head was against the wall, leaving his throat pale and long and exposed to Bucky.

He couldn’t resist, nuzzled against the sweaty edge of Steve’s collar and licked and bit at him until Steve’s movements turned frantic and-

Steve cried out, high and shocked and sounding somehow furious and amazed at the same time.

It took a few minutes for his breathing to get anywhere near even, and it was only then that Bucky eased his grip and settled Steve back on his feet.

Steve’s eyes blinked open, regarding Bucky hazily. He smirked.

“You’d make a terrible cop, Buck.”

Bucky shoved at his shoulder.

“Fuck you, Rogers.”

Steve’s smirk turned smug.

“Think you just did.”

-o-

  
  
  



End file.
